


To Talk

by Ilthit



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Against all odds, Bad Swedish, Hero Worship, M/M, SSSS: The Second Adventure, Sexual Fantasy, Sleepiness, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 07:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24467041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/pseuds/Ilthit
Summary: Lalli asks Reynir why he decided to follow him into an ancient murder forest to help him find his cousin. Reynir attempts to answer, first Lalli, then himself.
Relationships: Reynir Árnason/Onni Hotakainen
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22
Collections: Trope Bingo: Round Fourteen





	To Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Also written for slashficlets@dreamwidth.

Lalli's Swedish was getting better. Reynir's wasn't, really. He would rather rather have talked to the little mage in the dreamworld, but Lalli hadn't been letting him in recently. Technically, the bog was right there if Reynir walked up to it, wide open borders fading into the black sea, but there was a sense of _no_ about the place, of privacy, or then emptiness. Reynir suspected, not entirely without bitterness, that Lalli was spending his nights with Emil. 

He wished he knew how. Emil was definitely not a mage. Reynir had given him a stick once and asked him to draw a stave on the ground to see if it would work. After all that gesturing, he was sure he'd got the message through, but all Emil drew was a wobbly circle with a few irregular lines across it, and then exploded in a tirade of quick Swedish and walked off when Reynir asked him to try again. 

There were so many questions Reynir wanted to ask about Finnish magic and Onni and the places they'd seen and the weird trolls they kept encountering in Finland's silent wastelands. Mainly about Onni. 

"Du säger alltid Onni, Onni. Varför? Vad vill du från Onni? Varför kom du här?" Lalli frowned at Reynir across the campfire, Emil snug and sleepy against his side, eating one of their last pieces of stale biscuit. He had to say it a couple of times, with his thick Finnish accent and the strange shape roughly the same Icelandic words took in Swedish, before Reynir understood. 

What did he want from Onni? The scrape-scrape of Mikkel's sharpening stone across his knife stilled for a moment; he was listening, too. "I don't know," Reynir said. "I just wanted to talk to him some more."

Lalli narrowed his eyes and tightened his lips, and Reynir couldn't tell if he was displeased with the answer or just didn't understand it.

Later that night, after ejecting a few pinecones from under his sleeping mat and finding a groove on the knobby ground that somewhat accommodated his length, the question was still on Reynir's mind. He did want to talk to Onni. But... and you couldn't really say this out loud... he also wanted Onni to be proud of him. To say thank you for dispersing all those ghosts in Denmark, and for helping, and for coming to his rescue. He wanted Onni to tell him his magic was coming along well, because really, somebody should. Otherwise, how would he know if he was doing well?

He wanted Onni's thoughts on magic. To try practicing together, even if they called on different gods. Find out how they could complement one another. To sit under the stars of the dreamworld and talk, or then Reynir could talk and Onni could listen and offer his insights. For him to maybe open up just a little. Tell Reynir about his village in his own words, and let Reynir put a hand on his knee and tell him he was sorry that happened, and that he was glad Onni didn't die too. 

He wanted hugs. To watch Onni as his magic burst out like the window of a burning house. To know he had nothing to fear so long as Onni was by his side. To protect Onni right back, to cover him in staves of strength and shielding. 

_Full-body_ hugs. Feet to neck. 

Maybe kisses? 

Reynir yawned, half-way to sleep, his thoughts becoming disordered and nonsensical.

To wind his fingers around the back of Onni's neck and run the tips through the long ends of his hair. Feel his stubble under his thumbs. Hook his ankle around Onni's calf as they pressed together, all cozy inside his cloak. Now in his imagination there was nothing between them, and he fancied Onni's chest was pale and smooth, with a trail of blonde hair down his belly, and his back strong and broad under Reynir's palms. 

He wanted to press up tight against Onni's back when they went to bed at night. (He was so close to sleep, he could almost think Onni was right beside him here.) He wanted to rest his hips against Onni's thighs and snuggle his dick in between, buck against him until Onni turned sleepily and pulled him close. The smell of his sweat and breath. Reynir wanted to push Onni's hair back off his face, comb through the roots with his fingers, rock against him and hear him grunt as he grew harder, too. They'd bob together like a moored boat, somewhere under sunlight shaded by leaves. Onni would grab the back of Reynir's head and smash their mouths together, clinging with his other arm to Reynir's waist as if he was the mooring and without him Onni would be adrift. Their legs would slide together, against each other, kicking up grassy ground, slipping and rutting, skin to skin until someone got sticky. 

Then maybe more kisses. If that wasn't presuming too much. Maybe Onni would just hold him tight against himself as they caught their breath, his hand still on the back of Reynir's neck, keeping his nose pressed to the groove of Onni's neck, his mouth open on his collarbone. 

Maybe Onni would tell him he liked his hair. That it was beautiful. That Reynir was beautiful. And then, yes, Onni would kiss him again, he decided. A nice kiss, open and soft and warm like your own cozy bed at the end of a hard day of herding. The kind of kiss that promised more of them to come in the future.

A yawn broke through. Why was he not asleep yet? He had been so close. His dick pressed uncomfortably against something. He was sure he'd gotten rid of all the pinecones. Reynir made a sound at the back of his throat and shifted, turning his face into the smell of earth and clutching the edge of his mat for comfort. 

_Onni._

They just needed to find him. 


End file.
